I run my fingers across,
The paper soon to be tossed.
Though I cannot seek,
This is truly not something to be breached.
Though, I guess there's no use of listening to me.
I'll go and feel the bark of the weeping, willow tree.
The curves remind me of a fragile vase,
Wishing for something new, to trace.
YOU ARE READING
OLIVER'S SMALL COLLECTION OF POEMS!
PoetryThere's no really way of me saying of what's going to be in here, because when I write; I'm very unpredictable. But I can ensure you that I'll write with deep concepts in mind. Rue can write in here if they like, this book ISN'T just for me. (I wan...
